Miles placed a hand on the counter on either side of her, pinning her in. “Because I can’t not be here.” He took a step closer so his body was pressed up against hers.
She soaked in the warmth of him, trembling when his hard muscles came in contact with her traitorous body.
“A hundred and seven days ago you gave me the greatest gift one person can give another: unconditional love. And I didn’t know what to do with it, so like a fool, I let you slip away.”
She slid her palms up over his chest. “You counted the days?”
“And the hours, but I had to stop because that only made me more insane.”
Wrapping her hands around his waist, she pulled him in closer. “This isn’t just a Dudley Do-Right thing, is it? Because I understand why you can’t love me back.”
He lowered his forehead to her shoulder. “Yesterday was supposed to be a dream come true. To win an election was all I ever wanted. Except it wasn’t. I kept thinking something was missing. And something was. It was you.”
Lori didn’t dare breathe.
“When Justine died, it was easy to wall up my heart because she was gone and she wasn’t coming back. But you’re still here, living and breathing, walking around this earth without me. It was making me crazy.” He skimmed his lips along her neckline and Lori shivered. “I thought it was just because I didn’t want you with someone else, but it really was because I can’t live without you.” Those gorgeous blue eyes she adored stared into hers. “I love you, Lori. I don’t care who your father is or what he did. And I don’t care what any voters might think. All I know is that I don’t want to spend another hundred and seven seconds apart from you.”
Lori’s face hurt, she was smiling so broadly. She was glad her body was pressed against the cabinet because her limbs had turned to jelly with his words. “That, Congressman McAlister, is the most beautiful speech you’ll ever make.” She reached up and pulled his mouth down to hers. Their kiss was raw and hot, and the room began a lazy spin as his hands roamed over the parts of her that had missed him the most. Tears leaked out of her eyes, but Miles kissed them away.
“I don’t want this to be an intersection of our lives, Lori,” he whispered. “I want our paths to merge forever. You and me. With kids and grandkids. Maybe even a dog or two. I know I’m asking a lot for you to throw yourself into the fishbowl that is politics, but together, we can make it work. I know we can. I love you so much.”
She smiled at him through her tears. “I love you, too, Miles McAlister.” Lori kissed a corner of his mouth. “I really don’t feel like meeting my family for pizza. Do you?”
“Why, Lori, are you asking if you can have dessert before your dinner?” he teased.
“Well, it has been a hundred and seven days.”
His smile was wicked as he carried her up to the Bordeaux Suite, where he proceeded to give her more than one helping of dessert.
EPILOGUE
Miles charged up the steps to his Capitol Hill townhouse, eager to share the events of the meeting with Lori. His progress was halted in the narrow foyer by a traffic jam made up of the crew from the television cooking show that had been filming in the kitchen all morning. The audio technician gave him a wave as he maneuvered the big boom microphone out to the production van.
Rounding the corner into the bright sunny room that took up nearly the entire first floor of their century-old row house, Miles stopped short as he caught sight of his wife laughing with one of the producers. Dressed in a form-fitting purple sweater that would make most of her male viewers drool before she even started cooking, she boxed up the remains of a lemon tart for the crew, grinning as she teased the director about sharing it with everyone else.
Lori’s smile still had the power to make him weak at the knees. She’d been stingy with it when he’d first met her, and now, he considered each one a gift. Her grin deepened when she caught sight of him leaning against the doorframe.
“Miles!” She hurried over, wrapping her arms around his neck. “How was your meeting with the president?”
The rest of the crew murmured their good-byes as they slipped out of the kitchen, leaving the two of them locked in an embrace. “It went well. Your cupcakes were quite a hit. She was wondering if perhaps you’d consider taking over the job as White House pastry chef.” He nuzzled her neck.
“Mmm, I’m kind of busy with the gig I’ve got going as your wife,” she teased. “But if she backs you in your Senate race, I might consider a guest appearance or two.”
His wife of three years had become quite a celebrity in the cooking world with her weekly cable network show. Miles marveled at how the woman who used to hide in the shadows was now comfortable in front of a worldwide television audience. Lori was also the successful author of three bestselling cookbooks. The fact that she’d donated all her profits to a charity helping victims of her father’s Ponzi scheme further endeared her to her legions of fans.
“I told the president that you’d just as soon wait until we’re living there to take over the kitchen,” he said.
“Astute answer, Congressman.” She kissed him soundly, loosening his tie as she did so.
“We still have some time before we have to catch our flight to Chances Inlet,” he murmured as he snaked a hand beneath her sweater. “How about you and I enjoy a little dessert to celebrate my successful meeting with our commander in chief?”
The sound of the back door opening stilled his roaming fingers. Lori laughed as she slapped his hands away. “That’s going to have to wait until tonight.”
“Dada,” their son shrieked from his perch in the stroller.
“Hold on there, Donnie.” Lori reached around the toddler’s flailing hands and kicking feet to unfasten him from the stroller. Donnie’s blue eyes sparkled as he stretched his arms up at Miles. Lifting his son to his chest, he breathed in the scent of baby shampoo and apples the boy had been munching while on his walk.
“I tried to tire him out,” Cassidy said. “But now I think I’m the one who needs a nap.”
“You’re a trooper, Cass,” Lori said as Miles snuggled their son. “Most college kids go to Florida on their spring break. You come to D.C. and get stuck babysitting.”
“Spring break in Florida is overrated.” Cassidy grinned. “Besides, I’d never get to see my little godson otherwise.” She tickled the boy’s thigh, making him giggle. “I’ll take him upstairs and get him cleaned up. Ginger has texted me three times to make sure we don’t miss our flight. My guess is she has a major announcement to make at Patricia’s birthday dinner tonight.”
Miles handed his son off to Cassidy, who had the boy chortling with glee by the time they reached the nursery upstairs.
Lori smiled slyly at him. “It’ll be great having everyone together again for the weekend. I’m so glad your mother always includes my mom, Bruce, and Ian in the festivities as well.”
“Yeah, but leave it to Gavin to upstage everyone.” He pulled his wife back into his arms. “Something tells me my mother will be more delighted with the gift of another grandchild than the lace shawl we got her in Scotland.”
“Actually, that’s not the only gift we got her.” Taking his hand in hers, she placed it on her belly.
A lump formed in Miles’ throat as he looked down at his wife’s midsection before meeting her eyes again. “Really?” He lifted his hand to brush the hair back off her face. “That explains the gorgeous glow.” He pulled her in for a slow, deep kiss.
“Remember that when we’re on the airplane later,” she said.
“Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
Lori kissed his jaw. “Every day. But I never get tired of hearing it.”
Donnie began wailing and Lori sighed as she headed for the back stairs. She stopped at the base of the steps and looked over her shoulder at him. “All those years I spent dreaming of something better—wan
ting more—I never imagined a life as good as this one with you, Miles. I love you.”
As he watched his beautiful wife climb the stairs, Miles thought back to that list of goals he’d written when he was ten years old. How naïve he’d been thinking ticking off items on a list would make him happy. All he ever wanted was right here in this house or waiting for him at his mother’s inn in Chances Inlet. Lori’s gentle lullaby drifted down the stairs. Miles grinned like a fool as he made his way to the nursery and the family that made his list—and his life—complete.
Turn the page for a look at
SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY
the new Out of Bounds novel by Tracy Solheim
Jay McManus had built his reputation—not to mention his fortune—in business by always keeping his composure and never letting his opponents see him sweat. That cool, ruthless demeanor had propelled him to the top of the dot-com industry before he’d even hit the ripe old age of thirty. It had also earned him enough begrudging respect and money to enable him to become, at thirty-five, the youngest owner of a National Football League team. Right now, though, he was beginning to sweat his decision to go public with his lucrative software company and sink his profits into the Baltimore Blaze.
“Let me get this straight—according to some obnoxious gossip blogger, the Sparks, our team’s cheerleaders, are filing a lawsuit suing the team?” With two fingers, Jay pulled at the Windsor knot on the silk tie threatening to strangle him.
“As of this morning, there’s only one cheerleader named, but it is a class action suit, which means any of the several hundred women who’ve cheered for the team during the past decade could potentially join in.” Hank Osbourne, the team’s general manager, looked way too relaxed for having just dropped a bombshell into Jay’s morning coffee. Instead of being the cool one, Jay wanted to strangle someone. “These types of cases are springing up throughout the league,” the GM said calmly.
Known as the Wizard of Oz throughout the NFL, Osbourne was a taciturn former military officer who’d been running the day-to-day operations of the Blaze football team for five years and was well respected among the players, the league, and other teams. Jay hadn’t given a thought to replacing him when he’d taken over ownership from his godfather the preceding year. The guy had earned his pay and then some since Jay had arrived. As recently as this morning, the GM had been dealing with a kicker who’d been placed on suspension by the NFL after he’d violated the league’s alcohol abuse policy one too many times. Unfortunately for the player—and the team—the guy had just been enjoying a beer while on a family vacation. Not that it mattered to the league. Now, besides needing a kicker before the season opener this week, the team was apparently about to get hit with a sensational lawsuit by scantily clad women waving pom-poms.
This kind of bullshit just doesn’t happen in Silicon Valley, Jay thought as he stood up from the round table in his large corner office at the Blaze practice facility. He began to pace methodically in front of the room’s long picture windows, scattering the dust motes floating in the bright morning sunshine as he did so. “How many people know about this?”
“You know as well as I do, Jay, that this blogger is followed by every media outlet,” Hank said. “I spoke with Asia Dupree in our media relations office before I came in here. She’s already fielding calls from all the networks and major sports sites.”
Jay swore under his breath. The Girlfriends’ Guide to the NFL had been a pain in the league’s ass for over two years now. Unfortunately, most of what the anonymous blogger reported was true. It was the sensationalistic spin she put in her posts that aggravated him—and every other person who’d found themselves mentioned on her site. Lately, it seemed, the Blaze had taken more than its fair share of hits.
“Not only that, but Asia says some women’s groups have been calling, too.”
He turned to face the other men in the room. “You can’t be serious?”
Hank nodded solemnly as the others looked everywhere but at Jay. “Which means the commissioner will likely want to be kept apprised of what we’re doing.”
Which meant Jay’s day had just gone from bad to worse. The NFL commissioner, Reggie Austin, thought Jay was too young and too inexperienced to own the Blaze, and wanted one of his cronies to take over the team instead. But he hadn’t had the power or the votes to block Jay’s ownership bid. So instead, the man took every opportunity to say “I told you so” to anyone who’d listen. Now, thanks to a cyberbully, this was apparently going to be another one of those opportunities.
“The cheerleader, what do we know about her?” Jay directed his question at Donovan Carter, the Blaze’s chief security officer, who was seated at the opposite end of the table. A former college football star, the stocky African-American with the shaved head had once been an agent with NCIS before joining the Blaze staff.
Don scanned his tablet. “Not much yet. Her name is Jennifer Knowles. She was a student at the University of Maryland, but she’s not enrolled there this semester. She cheered for the Blaze for two years beginning with the Super Bowl season year before last. The roster doesn’t list her as a member now. I have a meeting with Nicki Ellis, the coordinator of the Sparks, at ten. Hopefully she can shed more light on this.”
“What does she want?” Jay asked. Someone always wanted something from him. Especially women. Usually it was Jay the women wanted, and if they couldn’t have him, they wanted money. Lots of money.
Hank released a long-suffering sigh. “We won’t know for sure until Art gets ahold of the complaint being filed.” He gestured to the man seated beside him: Art Langford, a tall man sporting a bad combover, who served as the team’s general counsel. “We’ve got someone at the courthouse ready to grab a copy when it reaches the clerk.” Hank steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. “In all likelihood, she’s jumped on the bandwagon of other cheerleading squads who’ve filed similar suits against their teams. Most have claimed wage discrimination. That argument won’t hold up in our house.”
“Explain it to me,” Jay demanded. He made it a habit to know every detail of each business he owned, but it hadn’t occurred to him when he bought the team that he needed to familiarize himself with the operations of the Blaze cheerleaders. Jay was angry at himself for the slipup.
“The Sparks generate their own income in the form of special appearance fees, as well as through other merchandising such as calendars and posters. Last year that amounted to just over one point three million dollars.”
Jay’s personal assistant, Lincoln Harris, interrupted Hank’s explanation with a loud whistle before Jay locked gazes with the young African-American man. Linc quickly dropped his eyes back to his tablet.
“Most teams reabsorb that money into their own coffers, but we use it to ensure the young women are afforded a decent wage—keeping in mind this is only meant to be a part-time job.” Hank continued. “The women sign a contract outlining what they’re responsible for with regard to appearances, transportation, and practice time. All in all, the Sparks are among the highest paid in the league.”
“Yet, according to some malicious blogger, one of them is filing a multimillion-dollar lawsuit against this team.” Jay let out an impatient huff as he continued pacing. Something didn’t make sense.
The four other men in the room were silent. Art squirmed a bit in his chair.
Jay pinned the lawyer with his gaze. “Out with it.”
Art flinched slightly before pulling out a sheet of paper from a folder in front of him and handing it to Jay. “The suits pending haven’t all been strictly about wage issues.”
Jay scanned the sheet, his pulse squeezing at his neck despite his loosened tie. He lifted his eyes to the men assembled in the room. “For the love of Christ, tell me there is no one in this organization performing a jiggle test on the cheerleaders.” Somehow he managed to push the words out through his tight jaw.
“Whoa,” Linc said from beside Jay. “Is that really a job? Because if it is—”
Jay silenced his brash young assistant with a glare. Linc had been with him for four years. A three-time all-American wrestler from Duke, Linc had a sharp mind for software that usurped even his prowess on the mat. When Jay went public with his company, he’d intended to leave Linc in place to look after Jay’s remaining shares. But Linc was an athlete at heart and the opportunity to work in the NFL was every boy’s—and man’s—dream, so he’d convinced Jay to bring him along. Up until this moment, Jay hadn’t regretted that decision.
Linc gave him a sheepish look. “Not a joking matter. Got it.” He went back to his job of taking notes of the meeting.
“Not as long as I’m managing this team,” Hank said, his expression every bit as stern as Jay’s likely was. “That behavior will not be tolerated.”
Jay rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his tight muscles pinch beneath his dress shirt. He really needed a few rounds in the gym with a punching bag. But that would have to wait until this evening. “So how do we prepare and defend ourselves against this crazy case? I really don’t want the added negative publicity going into the season. Art, can we hand this off to the league? With so many other similar suits clogging up the courts, surely they have a standard defense prepared.”
“That’s the problem,” Art said. “Cheerleaders are not considered part of the NFL. Each group falls under the purview of the individual team. Even if the league comes up with some standard policy now, it would be too little, too late. The teams are on their own to defend this.”
With a harsh sigh, Jay flipped the paper out of his hands and let it drift back toward the table. “Then do your best to make this go away, Art.” He picked up his coffee cup for a fortifying sip of caffeine, which he now wished was laced with Scotch. Art deferentially cleared his throat, causing Jay to nearly choke.
All They Ever Wanted Page 30